


gonna go to the place that's the best

by ashintuku



Series: fox on the run [17]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mention of Temporary Death, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: “Worth a shot, buddy, worth a shot...” Peter rubbed his thumb against the back of Groot’s head, looking up to the ceiling in thought, before another idea popped into his head. “Well, the mom method didn’t work. Let’s try the pop method.”





	gonna go to the place that's the best

It was Mantis who brought it up to him. 

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” she told him, dark eyes wide and worried, antennae drooping in helplessness. She wrung her hands as if she wanted to pull the answers out of her skin, knuckles rubbed raw where she pulled and pulled and pulled. “He is so quiet, and he will not accept my help. I do not know if I can even do anything for him – he is nothing like any other being I’ve ever come across...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Peter promised, smiling at her reassuringly. She relaxed and nodded; grimacing a smile. He clapped her on the shoulder and she flinched, just barely, before ducking away from him and disappearing down the hallways again. One day they’d have a real conversation. Just not that day.

He waited until the evening to go take care of the problem, walking down the halls of the _Eclector_ and remembering running from Horuz and Ger when he was fifteen and had messed with their things; remembering Kraglin or Tullk dragging him down these hallways when he was eventually caught and basically grounded for being a shit. 

He then stopped in front of the storage room that Yondu had called a closet and he had called his, touched the panel, and blinked into the dark room soon as the door slid open. 

It wasn’t a terribly large space, just big enough for a growing terran boy who wanted to have his own place to hide from terrifying space pirates from time to time. Yondu had always threatened to make him move out; to make him sleep in the crew quarters with the rest of the crew – and he had had to spend nights in there, piled together during the nights when there’d be a breach in the outer walls and everyone had to stick together for warmth and oxygen preservation. Those were claustrophobic nights, and rare in their occurrence; for the majority of his youth, he had his room. 

Now it was Groot’s. 

The small shape of the floral colossus curled up on the bed finally showed itself in the static-y darkness; a little hand holding onto the bedsheets in a loose fist and the Zune played softly in the background. Peter had left it with Groot so that he could fall asleep, because he knew his friend really liked listening to the songs, discovering new ones as he slowly drifted off. 

He looked peaceful, and Peter was about to turn around and leave when Groot made a small noise in the back of his throat. 

Pausing, Peter stepped further into the room; feet shuffling through a few fallen leaves from when Groot had crawled up onto the bed using vines instead of the good old fashioned way. He was still tiny, perhaps a bit too small to be on the bed Peter had used growing up, but it wasn’t like they had any beds with railings – and besides, Groot would probably just break the railings, he had a thing against being boxed into anything. 

Careful not to jostle the sprout, Peter sat down on the bed, waiting to see if Groot would make another noise or if he had just imagined it. As if sensing he was waiting, Groot curled tighter into himself and whined. 

Yep. _Definitely_ nightmares. 

“Hey, buddy,” Peter said softly, reaching forward to cup Groot’s back. Groot buried his face against the overlarge pillow, and Peter sighed. “Hey, Groot – c’mon, kid, it’s okay. Just a nightmare. Wake up, bud.” 

Groot snuffled, blinking open wide brown eyes slowly; eyes wet with tears and squinted with sleep. He looked up at Peter, then, reaching out a hand. 

“I am _Groot_.” 

“I’m here, li’l guy,” Peter picked him up carefully, settling him on his collar and swaying side-to-side. “Just right here. My giant jackass of a dad didn’t get me. Didn’t get any of us.” 

“ _I_ am Groot.” 

“I know you know, but sometimes dreams confuse us, right? Gotta cover all of my bases. Sometimes I’ll wake up from my nightmares thinking they’re real. It’s the worst.” 

Groot snuggled further against his chest, the bark of his skin soft and malleable; catching on the cotton of Peter’s T-shirt. Peter hummed along to the song playing on the Zune, listening to Groot’s sniffles, before he leaned over and grabbed the player from its dock to search through it. 

“Let’s see – I’m gonna play the song my mom always played to help me with bad dreams. Maybe it’ll help you, too – where is it, I know I downloaded it... Hah!” Peter grinned, looking down at Groot when the child looked up at him in tired curiousity. He was still clinging onto him; still upset by his dreams. He wondered what the floral colossus dreamt of; wondered if it was something to do with the Ravagers or with his dad or with something completely different and unknown. 

(Sometimes Peter wondered if Groot remembered dying, but he didn’t ask that, not even to Rocket as a ‘just to know in case it ever comes up’ kind of thing; it upset everyone too much, honestly. No one wanted to remember it.) 

He pressed play and set the Zune back on its dock, Norman Greenbaum’s ‘Spirit in the Sky’ filling the room. Peter shuffled up on the bed, leaning back against the wall and humming along; hand braced against Groot’s back to make sure the little guy was comfortable and didn’t slip or crawl away or anything. 

“Mom used to tell me, after she got sick, that she was going to meet up with my dad – that this song was about them,” he told Groot after a moment. Groot mumbled an incoherent ‘I am Groot’ and he took that to mean he could continue. “When she got sicker, she changed her story to her going to meet up with Grams, who had passed when I was only a baby. We’d listen to it in her hospital room, on especially bad days. Didn’t like thinking about her dying, but I liked the thought about her meeting up with Grams a lot better than with my dad, even then. Guess I had a kid’s intuition about knowing I had a deadbeat dad.” 

“I _am_ Groot.” 

“Yeah, he was a dick.” 

Eventually the song ended, fading into one of the new songs that Peter still didn’t know by heart yet. He glanced down, hoping to see a sleeping sprout; but instead he met Groot’s eyes, still alert and still upset, and he sighed softly. 

“No good?” 

“IamGroot.” 

“Worth a shot, buddy, worth a shot...” Peter rubbed his thumb against the back of Groot’s head, looking up to the ceiling in thought, before another idea popped into his head. “Well, the mom method didn’t work. Let’s try the pop method.” 

“I am Groot?” 

“We’re gonna go on an adventure, li’l Groot,” Peter said, standing up. He grabbed the Zune, pocketing it and hoping the headphones didn’t tangle too badly, before leaving his old room and walking down the halls of the third Quadrant, up to the bridge, which he knew would probably be empty at this time of night. 

He paused when he saw Kraglin sitting in the co-pilot seat, examining one of the remaining trinkets that they’d kept after the funeral. The first mate glanced over at them, eyes wide, taking in the two of them; Peter, dressed in his sleeping clothes, Groot clinging onto his shirt and looking the kind of miserable tired children always looked. 

He then smirked, waving a hand to the observation windows, and Peter grinned and nodded a silent thank you. 

He sat down in the chair in front of the console with all the comm gear in front of him; ignoring it all to press a few buttons and bring up a view of the stars outside of the ship. All the information from before vanished, leaving a clear view of space, and Peter kept a steady hand as Groot turned to stare out at the black in front of them. He set the Zune on the console, too, in a little docking port that would accommodate it well; immediately the bridge was filled with music. 

“See those constellations right in front of us?” he asked, pointing to the cluster of stars. Groot nodded, and Peter grinned. “We’re near the Hadrian Nebula – that’s the Fisher King constellation. The story goes that one day, a fisherman was fishing in the local river, when he reeled in a magnificent fish the size of a small child. And instead of keeping his catch to show off to his family and friends, the fisherman returned the fish to the river. So the fish came back, as they do in these kinds of stories, and told the man that he would grant his greatest wish, because he spared him.” 

“I am gROOT?” 

“I know, I, too, am amazed by talking fish,” Peter nodded, leaning back in the seat. “Anyway, so the fisherman tells the fish, ‘I really don’t want anything, I’ve got my boat and I’ve got my line and that’s all the happiness I need’, but the fish insisted, so the fisherman said ‘I’d like to find a ton of gold, so that my daughter can buy nice things. But no hats,” Peter added quickly when Groot’s face scrunched up, hiding a grin. “Hats are dumb and make heads look different.” 

“I Am _GroOT_.” 

“You said it. So the fish swims away after saying he’ll grant the fisherman’s wish, and that’s that for the day. He doesn’t catch anything else that day, packs up his gear, and goes back home to his loving daughter.” 

“And their dog.” 

Peter paused, looking back at Kraglin; he was still fiddling with the trinket, pretending to be busy, but he had a smile at the corner of his mouth that said he was listening. Peter grinned, too, laughing softly. 

“And their dog. Spot.” 

“Still a dumb name for a dog.” 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Peter rolled his eyes, looking back out the observation windows. Groot felt a little heavier on his shoulder, but his breathing was still too fast to be a knocked out child, and Peter could feel his eyes blink against his skin. “The next day, the fisherman goes out, and he sets up his line, and he begins to fish. And almost immediately he catches something, and he drags up this great big chest that’s filled with gold and jewels and units beyond his imagination.” 

“It was a small imagination,” Kraglin added, and Peter held back a groan. “He was a simple fella – didn’t need much to go beyond ‘is imagination.” 

“The fish from the day before popped up next to his boat, then, and told him ‘here are the riches of a greedy king from a country far away. He lost it all when his ship sank, because it was so laden with silver and gold. Now your daughter can buy all the nice things she’d like, except hats, because they suck.’ The fisherman thanked the fish for granting his wish—” _hah_ , that rhymed, “—and the fish went on his merry way to his fish family and fish house. The fisherman then brought the chest of riches to his daughter, and they celebrated because they were no longer poor, and so they bought a nicer house, and his daughter bought nicer clothes, and he got a nicer boat.” 

“I am Groot?” 

“Spot got a dashing collar, it really suited him.” Groot nodded and settled in again. “Anyway, their neighbours learned about their good fortune, and so they went to the fisherman and asked if they could borrow some money, too, so that they weren’t so poor anymore. And the fisherman, he was a giving guy – thought about others before him more often than not, so he gave out his riches to friends and neighbours until the whole neighbourhood had nicer houses and nicer boats. Eventually, though, he began to run short on riches, as will happen when you share the wealth, so the fisherman goes out and goes fishing, hoping maybe he’ll see the fish again.” 

“Should’a made his charity int’loans.” 

“He would not, because that’s _terrible_ and the fisherman’s a _nice guy_.” Kraglin scoffed, and Peter rolled his eyes again. “As it so happens, he catches the fish again, and he lets it go, and when the fish asks what he wants, he tells him, ‘I’d like even _more_ riches, so that I can share the wealth with my family and friends without worrying about running out’. So the fish swims away, and the fisherman packs up for the day. When he goes out the next day, he catches an even _bigger_ chest of gold and jewels and units, and the fish tells him ‘this is from a greedy king who sailed off with all his wealth just to show off, because he was a dick’. The fisherman thanked the fish, took the chest home, and was able to share the wealth to his heart’s content.” 

“I am Grooooot.” 

“I’m getting to that part, don’t worry,” Peter patted Groot’s back, swaying side-to-side. “Now the village is super prosperous, and news travels fast, and people learn about this seemingly endless amount of wealth. So people come to try and get gold who don’t know the fisherman. Now the fisherman, he’s a giving guy, but he’s also not the type to just give you gold ‘cause you want it, so he tells these strangers ‘no’. They don’t like this, so they decide to get together to form an army, to _take_ the riches from the village. The villagers turn to the fisherman, then, begging him to protect them. But what’s he going to do, he fishes for a living, right? So he goes back to the river, and he looks for the fish. When he catches him this time, he asks ‘I need enough gold to buy an army to protect the village.’ The fish tells him he’ll get the gold, and off he goes.”

“These deals seem fishy.”

“ _Lame_. The next day he gets a chest filled just with giant bars of gold, from a king who had taken his wealth and tried to line his ship with it like an idiot, and he uses it to buy up an army from around. They use the remaining gold to build up walls and fortifications, and they’re as protected as they can be. The greedy marauders are beaten back by the army, and everyone’s happy ‘cause they get to keep their gold and they have some fancy walls and an army to protect them, now.” 

“Lazy bastards.” 

“Is the peanut gallery done? Can I finish my story?” 

“Yeah, yeah...” 

“ _Anyway_. News gets around that the village isn’t a pushover village anymore, it’s basically a castle at this point, and so the villagers turn to the fisherman and tell him ‘you’re the king now, because you protected us and you’re the reason we’re all so wealthy now.’ The fisherman tells them ‘I’ll only be king if I’m still allowed to fish for a living’, and this seemed like a generally acceptable trade-off, so they agree. The fisherman becomes the fisher king, then, and he returns once more to the river to see the fish. When he catches and releases him, the fish tells him ‘could you please stop catching me, it’s getting tiring.’ The fisher king apologizes and tells him he just wanted to thank him for helping him become the fisher king, and the fish tells him ‘it’s no problem. Just don’t take your gold out on your boat, or else you’ll end up just like the other kings.’ The fisher king agreed to this, and they all lived happily ever after.” 

“I do _not_ remember th’story goin’ like tha’.” 

Peter shushed Kraglin, looking down to see Groot sound asleep on his shoulder; little snores vibrating next to his neck. 

“...I’m not gonna tell the kid Yondu’s version where the fisher king eventually gets a big head, steals everyone's riches through taxes, sails off with all his gold, and sinks to the bottom of the river because greed is a universal truth and people are dumb with money,” he finally said, softly. 

“Can’t believe y’even remember that story.” Peter snorted, shaking his head.

“Same, honestly. I’m pretty sure Yondu pulled half of it out of his ass.” 

Kraglin wheezed a laugh, and Peter grinned, leaning back in the chair to look at the stars. 

“But it worked, just like it did with me.” 

“Twig havin’ nightmares?” 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, closing his eyes. “...thought maybe making up stories about stars would help him doze off. Yondu used to do that all the time when I first got abducted.” 

“Picked up.” 

“Same difference.” 

Kraglin huffed, and Peter heard him set down the trinket he’d been playing with. 

“...said he didn’t like hearin’ ya cry every night.” 

“Bull,” Peter said, smiling to himself. “Yondu just liked spinning tales.” 

He then looked over his shoulder, seeing Kraglin staring out of the observation windows; expression thoughtful. 

“Y’know? I think it might’a been a bit of both.” 

Peter pressed his lips together, turning back around to look out at the stars as well; the Zune still playing, Groot’s snores in harmony with the music. 

“...yeah, maybe.” He got up, then, being careful not to jostle the child in his arms, turning to head back to Groot’s room. He paused by the co-pilot’s seat, looking down at Kraglin. After a moment, Kraglin looked up at him; smile a bit nostalgic.

“Night, Pete.” 

“Night, Krags. Keep us on course, would ya?” 

“Always do, kid. Always do.”


End file.
